


The Haunting

by BradyGirl_12



Category: The Waltons (TV)
Genre: 1910s, 1918, 1940s, 1941, Background Het, Canon Het Relationship, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Het, Holidays, John/Olivia Background Het, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Spirits, Suspense, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-10 05:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: As World War II grows closer to Waltons Mountain, John is haunted by the memory of a lost loved one during the last War.





	1. The Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Original LJ Date Of Completion: February 24, 25, 28, March 4, 2017  
> Original LJ Date Of Posting: March 24, 29, April 20, 30, 2017  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Lorimar Productions does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 949 + 758 + 490 + 1411 +  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> Author’s Note: All chapters can be found [here.](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/928731.html)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Haunting begins.

  
_Sepia sunlight_  
_Glints off gold,_  
_A time long past,_  
_Precious and old._

_Loved ones gone,_  
_Memories tattered,_  
_As smiles fade,_  
_Hearts battered._  


**Abigail Perkins “Sepia Memories” 1918 C.E.**

_In the autumn of 1941, the Second World War was coming to Waltons Mountain. Though many pretended not to, deep down everyone knew it. My parents and grandmother remembered the First World War and what it had cost them. My father’s older brother Ben never came home from France while he did twenty-three years ago. The loss of my Uncle Ben was always with us, but as the latest War came closer, my father felt the loss more keenly._

& & & & & &

The days were growing cooler as October burst out its glory on the Mountain. The bright colors always made a good show of Nature, and there was excitement for the approach of Halloween. The Walton children were too old for trick-or-treating, but there was a dance planned for the community at Godseys’ Hall. Decorating at home was done with Jack O’Lanterns, cornstalks tied to the front porch pillars, and a black Witch cut-out hung on the front door, despite Olivia and Esther’s discomfort with the latter.

The sawmill was working at full capacity. John and Ben were putting in long hours, but neither complained too much. After years of Depression, it was good to have some prosperity again. Olivia made sure they were well-supplied with cold drinks and snacks when necessary. 

One evening John trudged from the mill. Ben was on a date with Cindy, so he had finished up alone. A slight breeze blew, rustling the trees.

John liked seeing the warm glow of light in the windows. It always gave him a good feeling to know that his family was safe and happy in their cozy house. A smile creased his tired face.

_**“John.”** _

John looked around. “Jason? Jim-Bob?”

There was no answer. John shrugged. The wind could play tricks with a man’s ears, especially when he was tired. He trudged up the steps and entered the house.

Grandma, Jim-Bob, Jason and Elizabeth were gathered around the radio listening to Charlie McCarthy, while Olivia and Erin were on the couch sewing. A fire crackled in the hearth as John went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. When he returned to the living room he sat down in his favorite chair.

_“I hit that baseball right outta the park!”_

_“I know. I saw you against the **Yankees** last night.”_

_“You know what they call me?”_

_“What, Charlie?”_

_“The Splendid Splinter!”_

The radio audience laughed, joined by the Waltons.

“He must think he’s Ted Williams,” Jason quipped.

John felt himself relaxing after a long day’s work. His eyes began to close as his clasped hands rested over his stomach.

 _“Time waits for no man. Or a wooden dummy,”_ said Charlie.

John felt himself beginning to drift off. His energy was no longer that of a young man.

_Well, so be it. Still got enough to put in a good day’s work._

_“Well, now, ain’t **that** a kick in the head!”_

Laughter.

 _“Charlie, stop being a wise guy,”_ chided Edgar Bergen.

_**“Kind of like you, huh, Johnny?”** _

John shook his head side-to-side. No one called him Johnny anymore.

 _“Charlie, you’re impossible!”_

_**“Well, Johnny, don’t you look cute napping away.”** _

John roused himself awake. He blinked and looked around. Everyone was absorbed by the antics on the radio. Even Olivia and Erin were listening as they sewed.

“Hmph, musta been dreamin’,” John muttered. He closed his eyes again, sinking back into a twilight state.

 _“The Nazis are securing their foothold in El-Alamein as Rommel’s **Afrika Korps** dominate the desert. The news from China continues to be grim as Chiang Kai-Shek’s forces battle the Japanese on all fronts. In the South Pacific…”_

John felt restless. He could hear voices talking as he tried to open his eyes. He felt a cold breeze and shivered. Opening his eyes, he blinked. For a minute he thought he saw fog drifting around the radio. He rubbed his eyes.

_Must be tireder than I thought._

“John?”

He looked over to see Olivia’s concerned expression. “Wha…?”

“You look cold. You all right?”

“Um, yeah.” John smiled wearily. “Just a little tired.”

“You’ve been at it all day. Why don’t you go to bed early? It’ll be quiet upstairs while we’re all down where.”

“Y’know, that sounds like a good idea.” John stood and smiled at his wife. She smiled back and promised to be up soon.

John trudged up the stairs and yawned. A good night’s sleep would fix him right up.

He went to the bathroom and washed up, then removed his clothes in the bedroom, leaning against the dresser. He was about to drape his jeans over the chair when something did not seem quite right. He took a closer look at the dresser.

_Wha…?_

The photograph of his brother Ben in his Army uniform was set at the edge. Confused, John pushed it further back on the dresser.

“What are ya doin’ here, Big Brother?” The gold-framed photograph was kept in his mother’s bedroom, not his. Maybe his mother had put it here by mistake.

He looked at his brother’s smiling face. He remembered the day the picture had been taken. His mother had a photo of himself and another one of the two of them in uniform, arms slung around each other and smiling.

_Two very young pups going off to war, expecting a great adventure. Mostly we got blood and bombs and fear in those stinkin’ trenches._

John shook his head and crawled into bed in his longjohns. The picture on the dresser wobbled slightly as laughter drifted from downstairs.


	2. Like Leaves In The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talks over old times with Ep Bridges.

_The boys marched_  
_Off to war,_  
_Singing and gay,_  
_But then_  
_When the shooting_  
_Stopped,_  
_On a fine_  
_Autumn day,_  
_Some of them_  
_Came back,_  
_Never the same._

_Some of them_  
_Came back,_  
_Torn and lame._

_Some of them_  
_Never did_  
_Come back_  
_At all._  
_Like leaves_  
_In the fall,_  
_Glorious,_  
_Then_  
_Fallen_  
_Back to earth._

  


**Edna May Hampstead**  
**“The Boys Of 1917”**  
**1919 C.E.**

It was another beautiful October day. John wished that he could go fishing, but the Wilkinson order was due today. Ben was delivering the first load into town while John worked on the remainder.

By mid-morning John was taking a break, drinking a glass of lemonade and talking with old friend Sheriff Ep Bridges. The sheriff was drinking lemonade, too, and chatting pleasantly.

“Had a dust-up last night. Coupla of the boys got a little sauced and started shootin’ _The Bucket_ up.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it. I had to wrangle ‘em before they hurt someone. Dopes are coolin’ their heels in jail now under the watchful eye of my deputy.”

“Hmph. I remember getting’ a little liquored-up in my day, but not with a gun!”

“Dumb is dumb, I guess.” Ep shrugged.

John finished his lemonade and poured another glass, refreshing Ep’s as well. “Young or old fools?”

“Middle-aged. The Scott brothers.”

John shook his head. “They were in the War. They should know better.”

“Some vets can’t help it.”

“You and I did all right.”

Ep nodded, still troubled. John took a sip of lemonade and said, “I’ve been thinking about the War lately.”

“Yeah?”

“Mostly about Ben.” John thought about the odd events of last night. “It’s the twenty-third anniversary of the Argonne.”

“Yeah.”

John rubbed his face with his hand. He could smell sawdust and wood shavings.

_Beats blood and bloated bodies._

“I guess it’s because of the war in Europe.”

“I know.” Ep’s hazel eyes were sympathetic.

“I worry about the boys, especially Ben.”

Ep smiled. “Bit of a hothead, huh?”

John laughed. _“Bit_ of one! You know him, Ep. He’s the most impulsive of all my boys. If we declare war, he’ll run right down to the nearest recruiting center.”

Ep tentatively asked, “You don’t want your boys volunteerin’?”

“I could wait ‘til they get drafted, but I wouldn’t stop ‘em from signing up. I just want them to think about it first.”

“Like we did?”

John smiled wryly. “Okay, that’s a fair point.”

Ep touched John lightly on the arm. “Young men are always bristlin’ for a fight. Ben will do you proud if we get involved in this latest war.”

“You think we’ll be able to stay out of this one?”

Ep shrugged. “That’s for FDR to decide, but we might have to fight. You really think that Hitler’s just gonna be satisfied with Europe and Africa?” 

John took a long gulp of lemonade. He suddenly wished it was the Baldwin Sisters’ Recipe instead. “No.” And Ep had not even mentioned the Japanese.

The silence hung heavy in the workshop. A cold breeze suddenly gusted through and swirled the motes of sawdust around in a golden frenzy. John could feel goosebumps form on his arms. 

Ep said, “Got an interestin’ visitor in town a few days ago.”

“Oh?” John was glad for the change in subject, pulling his shirtsleeves down..

“Yeah, some college professor from up North.”

“Yeah?” Not the usual type of visitor in Charlottesville.

“She was lookin’ for directions to Lilabelle Watkins’ place.”

“What?”

“I know.” Ep shook his head in amusement. “Crazy Yankee, right? But that’s what she wanted.”

“She from New York?”

“Boston, actually. She’s got a fellowship at Harvard, she says.”

“Harvard?” John was impressed.

“Yep. Actually, she lives up in Salem.”

“Salem?” John’s eyes widened slightly. “Better keep that under your hat. People around here already think Lilabelle’s a witch.”

“Funny how the mountain folk, the most consarned suspicious people around, don’t care she’s a witch, accordin’ to some.”

“Maybe because she doesn’t put curses on people and knows folk medicine.”

“You could be right.” Ep finished his lemonade. “Anyway, Professor Simmons is a right handsome woman.”

“What’s she teach?”

“Didn’t rightly say.” Ep put the glass down. “Thank Livvy for the lemonade. I gotta get back to town.”

“Back to work for me, too.”

Ep drove away in his official car and John went back to his saw, trying not to think about war, whether one from nearly a quarter-century ago, or the current one creeping closer and closer to America’s shores.


	3. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John experiences a strange encounter at Miller’s Pond.

_Shadows liquid,_   
_Swirling,_   
_Ephemeral,_   
_Like mercury_   
_In the grasp._

_Shadows hold_  
 _The secrets_  
 _Of the_   
_Soul._

  


**Salvatore Verducci**  
  
**“Shadows”**  
  
**1919 C.E.**

  
For the next few days, John’s thoughts centered on his business, he and Ben working smoothly as a team. Jason and Jim-Bob helped when they were home from school and college, taking some of the pressure off.

By the end of the third day, John had some time in the early evening to walk over to Harley and Verdie’s place and ask Harley if he could spare a few days to help out at the mill. Harley was more than happy to get the work and promised to be there bright and early in the morning.

John took his time, enjoying his chance to be out of the mill. He was glad that Harley had been available. The man was a good, reliable worker and would be worth every penny that John paid him.

John walked over the bridge that spanned Miller’s Pond, the lowering sun sparkling on the water. He paused to lean on the bridge’s railing and gaze down into the water, seeing the silvery flash of fish just below the surface. Maybe he could squeeze in some fishing this Sunday while everyone was at church.

He admired the sunset, its rich colors streaking the sky with orange, yellow and rose like one of Livvy’s paintings. Satisfied with his little interlude, John walked across the bridge as dusk fell. 

He was about twenty yards away when he heard his name called. He stopped walking and frowned. Shrugging, he started to move again.

**_“Johnny.”_ **

_Nobody calls me Johnny._

John looked around. “Who’s there?”

**_“You know me, Johnny.”_ **

“Why do you keep calling me that? No one’s called me that since…”

John saw the figure standing on the bridge in the spot he had just vacated. One elbow rested on the railing as one leg was crossed over the other, giving the figure dressed in an Army uniform a jaunty appearance.

**_“Good to see you, Johnny.”_ **

Shock chilled John as a cold breeze touched his skin. _“Ben?!”_

**_“That’s right, kid.”_ **

“How…this can’t be.” John rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been working too hard.” He looked at the bridge again and hoped it was empty.

**_“Sorry, Johnny, no such luck. I’m still here.”_ **

“How can this be?”

**_“What?” ___** ____

__“You being here, Benjy.”_ _

__John could swear he could see a smile on the…imposter’s?…face. But even from this distance, it looked like Ben! Shock of red hair under the soldier’s hat, mischievous green eyes, and that smile that seemed highly amused._ _

__**_“See, I knew you’d come around, Little Brother.”_ ** _ _

__“I don’t believe in ghosts, fella. This is a sick practical joke.”_ _

__**_“Aww, Johnny, I’m as real as you remember me.”_ ** _ _

__Angrily, John stepped forward, shadows shifting as dusk turned to darkness. He reached the bridge, but no one was there. He looked around, falling against the railing. What had just happened?_ _


	4. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John receives a startling invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: For _The Book_ (Season 3, Episode 11)  
> 

_“There’s a chill on the Mountain.”_

  


**Popular Folk Saying**  
**17th Century C.E.**

  
“You’re working too hard.”

John was startled by Harley’s words. He nearly dropped the board he was carrying to his truck. “What?”

“You look tired.”

John threw the board onto the truck. “I’ve been busy with a lot of orders.”

“Guess prosperity’s finally back.”

“I’d like for that to show up and stay awhile.”

Harley laughed. “Can’t argue with you there.” He mopped his dark brow with a red handkerchief.

John checked his watch. “Will you stay for lunch?”

“Nope, Verdie’s got her good friend chicken waitin’ for me, but I thank you for the invitation.”

“Okay, enjoy your lunch.”

“Be back in an hour.”

John went into the house as Harley left. Olivia was just finishing fixing sandwiches as he washed up at the kitchen sink.

Last night had rattled him, but he had chalked it up to exhaustion. He was still uncertain about his experience, but it had to be just a tired mind. Ben had been on his mind a lot lately.

Olivia set the sandwich plates on the table. “Harley went home?”

“Verdie’s fried chicken was calling him.”

She laughed. “Can’t fault him for that. She’s a great cook.” She poured glasses of apple cider. “How’s the work coming along?”

“Good. With Ben up in Richmond negotiating a new contract, Harley is a godsend. He and I don’t even need to talk to know what the other one needs, and he’s a tireless worker. Worth every penny I pay him.” He looked approvingly at his sandwich. “Cold chicken from last night?”

Olivia nodded. “Your favorite.”

John grinned. “I’d say you’d give Verdie a run for her money when it comes to cooking chicken.” Olivia smiled. “Speaking of work, I might be able to knock off early tonight.”

“Good. A relaxing evening is what you need.”

“Relaxing around here?”

“Now, John, it can be quiet around here at night.”

“Well, I’ll admit, Liv, now that the kids are adults, we’re able to enjoy some fairly quiet evenings.”

“Just you see tonight.”

& & & & & &

As John worked in the mill alone after Harley had gone for the day, Jason appeared.

“Hey, Daddy, I got an hour before Bobby picks me up. Need some help?”

“Yeah, Harley and me got most of it done, but I want to finish this last batch before I quit.”

Jason grinned and put on his work gloves and got to work.

& & & & & &

Companionable silence filled the sawmill as John and Jason went about their tasks, the noise of the machines filling the crisp autumn air. While Ben was a chatterer, Jason was John’s quietest child. Second-born, he was sandwiched between bossy eldest son John-Boy and raucous eldest daughter Mary Ellen.

Jason was so self-effacing that when he had landed a job with _Bobby Bigelow and The Haystack Gang_ , he had tried to tell his good news but no one had listened, too caught up in the excitement over John-Boy’s first published book, which had turned out to be a vanity press scam. Jason had given up, not wanting to steal his brother’s thunder. Gradually the news came out and John had never been prouder. 

As the saw’s noise dwindled John said, “You know, Jason, any time you need to talk, I’m here.”

Jason smiled gently. “I know, Daddy. And there’s always the Mountain.”

John nodded. “Just like Alvin York did in that movie about him. He took to the Tennessee hills to decide whether to be a conscientious objector or not.”

Which is what Jason had recently struggled with while serving in the National Guard. He was being trained to kill, but would he be able to take a life if necessary? 

A shadow fell across Jason’s face and John felt a chill.

“Daddy? You okay?”

“Huh?”

“You seem upset.”

“No, just tired.”

“I wish I could stay, but Bobby will be here any minute to pick me up.” Jason stripped off his gloves. “You know how impatient he is.” 

John laughed. “He sure is a man in a hurry.”

Jason clapped a hand on his father’s shoulder. “You should knock off early.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

“Have fun, son.”

John shivered as a cold gust of wind blew through the sawmill as Jason walked out into the twilight.

& & & & & &

John had to admit that Livvy was right. The house was quiet as Erin read, Grandma rocked in her rocking chair, Jim-Bob worked on some contraption out in the barn, and Elizabeth was out on a date. Ben was still in Richmond and reported negotiations going well, and of course Jason was working with the band.

Olivia sat at the end of the couch and smiled at John, who was sitting in his favorite chair. She was winding a ball of yarn and looking smug.

He picked up his latest Zane Grey paperback. Time for a good read and just relaxation, which he desperately needed. His strange hallucinations showed that in frightening ways.

He settled down to read, soon immersing himself in the Old West.

& & & & & &

The clock on the mantel chimed nine times. Grandma and Erin had gone to bed and since Jim-Bob was still out in the barn and Elizabeth and Jason had not come home yet, it was just him and Olivia left in the living room.

“Quiet enough for you?” she asked.

“Could hear a pin drop.”

She smiled. “Well, got to be up early in the morning. You staying up awhile or coming to bed?”

“Gonna finish this chapter, then I’ll be up.”

“All right.” Olivia stood and went up the stairs.

John concentrated on his book when a sound attracted his attention. He looked out the window and saw a shadowy figure on the porch. His gut clenched as he slowly laid aside his book, rose from his chair, and walked to the door, yanking it open.

“All right, what…?” He stopped in confusion.

An unfamiliar woman looked startled. “I was just about to knock.”

“Sorry.” John shut the door behind him as he came out onto the porch. “I saw you through the window.”

“Are you John Walton?”

“I am.”

“Lilabelle speaks highly of you.”

John tilted his head. “That’s a Boston accent?”

“Very good, Mr. Walton.” She held out her hand. “Professor Sarah Simmons of Harvard University.”

John shook her hand. “Sheriff Bridges mentioned meeting you.”

“All good, I hope.”

He smiled. “Come on in. It’s cold out here.”

Sarah’s smile was pleasant. She was definitely ‘handsome’, as Ep had said, with short blond hair, peaches-and-cream skin, and blue eyes that exuded intelligence. She wore a warm brown coat with matching pants stuffed into hiking boots. A dark-green cloche covered most of her hair, but wisps peeked out. He judged her to be around maybe 35 or so. She stayed on the porch, her expression carefully neutral.

“Lilabelle would like to invite you to a séance on Halloween.”

John was taken aback. “Séance?”

“I know it’s a little unusual…”

“Very.” He glanced involuntarily over his shoulder. Livvy would have a fit if she knew he was even discussing witchcraft with this stranger. “Why?”

“She says your brother has been trying to contact you.”

John felt ice sluice along his veins. How did Lilabelle _know?_

Sarah smiled, not without sympathy. “She’s the real thing, Mr. Walton. Can you get away from your family on Halloween?”

John’s first instinct was to refuse, but he remembered all the strange things concerning Ben that had happened lately. Despite his scoffing at talk of magic and witchcraft, he had grown up on this mountain and had heard strange tales, many of them told by his deceased father.

“Yeah, I can.”

“Good. Lilabelle says you know where her cabin is. Come for eleven-thirty.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Walton.” Sarah Simmons turned and walked off the porch and down the road, disappearing into the darkness.

John stared down the road for several minutes, the leaves rustling in the night as whispers swirled around him. “Ben?” he whispered.

“Daddy?”

John jumped. “Jim-Bob!”

“Sorry to scare you. Why you standin’ out here in the cold?”

“Uh, just got distracted. You finished tinkering for the night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on in, then.”

John ushered his youngest son inside, glancing back over his shoulder. Was that someone standing in the road? He blinked but there was nothing there.

The door closed behind John and Jim-Bob as shadows shifted along the road.


	5. The Seance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attends the séance in Lilabelle Watkins’ cabin on Halloween.

_On the night of All Hallows_   
_Hang out at the gallows._

_The leaves are gold,_   
_The spirits old._

_The veil is thin_   
_See the Cheshire grin._

  


**Sarah Jean Simmons**  
  
**“All Hallows Eve”**  
  
**1888 C.E.**

  
The Waltons prepared to head out to the Halloween party at _Godseys’ Hall,_ dressed in various costumes and carrying contributions to the food: chocolate cupcakes, cranberry and pumpkin breads and pumpkin pies. As their children piled into the truck, Olivia hesitated on the porch by the door.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come?” she asked her husband.

“I’ve still got a few things to finish up at the mill, then I think I’ll listen to The Shadow and turn in early.” 

“Maybe I should stay with you. I’m not so sure about this Halloween stuff.”

John smiled. His devout Baptist wife was always uneasy about this holiday. More the reason not to tell her about what he really intended to do this night.

“You’d better go. You can keep Ma company while she watches the dancing.”

“I suppose so.” Olivia sighed. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I’ll do my best.” John kissed her and Olivia joined her family.

As soon as the truck disappeared down the road, John went back inside and wrote a note about changing his mind and going night hunting for possums. He kept the note in his pocket until he was ready to go, filling his evening with a little work at the mill and then attempting to read until _The Shadow_ came on the radio. He would have to leave around ten in case anyone came back early from the party.

Guilt warred with his desire to find out just what Lilabelle Watkins knew about the Haunting he was undergoing, because he had no doubt that it was indeed just that. Too many stories told by people who were solid citizens around these parts had convinced him that he wasn’t cracking up. Something strange was going on, and if Lilabelle could give him answers, he was going to take them.

His guilt, of course, came from keeping this all from his wife, but Olivia would never stand for anything like a séance. She had banished the children’s ouija board years ago and often said she ‘held no truck with occult doings.’ John’s mother was of the same mindset. Walton had believed that there was something to them, and while a good Baptist, he nevertheless said there were things that couldn’t be explained in rational ways. 

John wished that he could go earlier to Lilabelle’s cabin, but he knew that she had requested eleven-thirty so that he could be there in plenty of time for the Witching Hour of midnight. He listened to the Shadow’s eerie laugh and wondered if Lamont Cranston ever had these problems.

Gradually the clock chimed ten-thirty. It would take him about an hour to get to the cabin in the dark, so he shrugged on a warm coat and put his note on the refrigerator and went outside, remembering to take his shotgun as cover for his hunting story. He whistled for Reckless and the dog climbed into Jim-Bob’s car. John turned on the ignition and it started up smoothly.

The shadows of the night spooked him as he drove. The moon was nearly full, shining down as John squinted to search for the road he needed to go further up the Mountain. 

_I must be crazy to be doing this._

He found the road and turned the car onto it, which gradually devolved to a rocky path. He had to stop the car and walk the rest of the way to Lilabelle’s cabin with Reckless at his side, as the road was little more than a bridal path now. 

Lilabelle’s cabin was plain but sturdy, a butter churn set out on the porch, along with a rocking chair. John admired the craftsmanship of both churn and chair as he climbed the three steps to the porch. Delicate windchimes tinkled melodic notes as the wind blew. A Jack O’Lantern leered in the front window with a candle burning inside it.

John hesitated. He still had the chance to turn around and forget this nonsense. Instead, he walked up to the front door and knocked on the wood, taking a deep breath. 

Only a minute passed before the door was opened by Sarah Simmons, dressed in a soft pumpkin-colored shirt and blue jeans. She wore a beaten-gold amulet with a sapphire set in the center.

“Come on in, Mr. Walton.”

John entered the cabin with Reckless in tow, a soft light cast by a kerosene lantern and light from the fireplace, where a cast-iron pot hung over the fire. He wondered what Lilabelle had cooking in there. The cabin was crude but clean, the wooden floor swept and a table and chairs set in one corner. A broom leaned against the wall, and John could hear the creak of a rocking chair.

Lilabelle Watkins rocked steadily, her blue gingham dress patched but clean. She wore a crocheted black shawl, old-fashioned button-up shoes, and a bright yellow head scarf. Bright, blue eyes were set in a lined face. No one knew her exact age. Some claimed that she was over a hundred, and her eyes would twinkle when some enterprising soul tried to get her to spill the number. She would merely say, “A lady never divulges her age.” Zeb had always claimed that she had been old when he was a boy, which John had chalked up to his father’s occasional exaggerations, but now he wasn’t so sure. 

“Welcome, John.” Her voice was raspy but strong. She patted Reckless’ head and the dog curled up by her chair.

“Hello, Lilabelle.” John shook her bony hand. The grip was firm and warm. “What’s this about a séance?”

“Ben’s been trying to contact you.”

He felt a little chill but did not ask her how she knew. She just did.

“This is the night to call the spirits. Are you ready?”

John was not sure he was but said, “Yes.”

“Then let’s get started.”

He helped the old woman out of her chair while Sarah lit three orange candles on the table, which was covered with a yellow cloth. John saw a crystal ball set in a plastic holder in front of one chair, and Lilabelle sat down in that one. She indicated the other chairs, a few gold bangles jingling as she gestured. John and Sarah took their seats after John hung his coat on a rack by the door.

John smelled something herbal and Sarah said softly, “Patchouli.”

Lilabelle lit a small pot by her elbow and the smell intensified. She waved her hand back and forth over the crystal ball and muttered words in a language John could not understand. She suddenly stopped the handwaving as a mist began to form inside the ball.

“Join hands,” Lilabelle commanded as she closed her eyes.

John took Lilabelle’s hand and reached across the table for Sarah’s. She wore a ring that was cold against his flesh. Streaks of light appeared in the ball, but perhaps it was just reflections from the fireplace. Lilabelle began to chant in the odd language again.

John noticed a gold necklace in the folds of her bodice, a purple gem set in the center. Gold hoop earrings winked in the firelight as he turned his attention to the ball.He felt warm, his cheeks growing pink as he felt nervous, but it was too late to back out now. He gripped the women’s hands tightly.

The chanting went on for several minutes, lulling John almost to sleep, and when the ancient clock on the mantel struck the hour of midnight, Lilabelle spoke again in English. “Come, Ben Walton, and speak your piece.”

A breeze blew through the cabin even though the door and windows were closed. The flames in the hearth wavered as a chill overcame the heat, and the three candles on the table guttered, close to flickering out. Shadows moved in every corner as John was fully alert now.

“Are you here, Ben Walton?”

The shadows pulled away in the corner directly opposite John. Reckless suddenly got to his feet and growled. The smell of patchouli grew stronger.

John felt light-headed as he saw the familiar face of his long-dead brother coalesce into something shimmering. He was as young as John remembered him. He was dressed in his Army uniform as if ready to step into the trenches.

Reckless stopped growling and slowly approached the apparition, sniffing at the boots, and a ghostly hand touched the dog’s head. Reckless whimpered and curled up at the apparition’s feet.

“Ben.”

**_“Johnny.”_ **

Lilabelle’s eyes were still closed but Sarah was staring into the crystal ball. Did she see Ben’s reflection there? Did she see him at all?

“It’s good to see you.” John’s heartbeat was up as he stared at the apparition.

Ben grinned. **_“And you.”_**

“Are you…real?”

**_“I don’t have much time. The veil between the worlds is at its thinnest tonight.”_ **

“What do you want?” 

**_“I…” Sadness passed over Ben’s features. He passed a hand through reddish hair. “Dark days are coming.”_ **

“The War?”

**_“Yes.”_ **

John swallowed, his mouth dry. “Can you see the future?” 

**_“I need to give you something.”_ **

John noticed the sidestepping of his questions. Maybe Ben was not allowed to talk about the future in detail.

“What is it?”

 ** _“Lilabelle will direct you. Give it to the son who follows in my footsteps.”_**

The shadows darkened and John felt fear as he thought he saw the healthy look of his brother turn to a pale, bony apparition with blood running down the side of his face. His hands trembled in the grasp of Lilabelle and Sarah as he whispered, “Ben…”

Maybe it had been his imagination because in the next moment, Ben looked healthy and happy again. He smiled and touched the brim of his soldier’s cap. **_“Goodbye, Johnny.”_**

“Wait, Ben! Do my sons survive the war?”

 ** _“I’m sorry. Remember this night.”_** He began to fade away.

“Ben!”

The shadows closed over the space where Ben had stood. Reckless got up and returned to his spot beside Lilabelle’s rocking chair and settled next to it. John shivered as Lilabelle opened her eyes. John met that gaze, suddenly realizing that her eyes were a pale shade of violet. He could have sworn that they were blue. He blinked, and her eyes were blue when he looked again.

“Where is it?” he asked her.

“The box on the mantel.”

John released the women’s hands and stood, slightly shaky. He retrieved the handcarved wooden box that smelled of cedar off the mantel and opened it. A shiny silver dollar rested on a bit of red silk. He took it out and examined it, noticing the year 1861 stamped on the coin.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“A silver dollar.” John studied the pictures, one stamped on each side. “I think it’s Union, not Confederate.”

“Keep that coin close, John,” Lilabelle said.

“I will.” John carefully put the coin in his wallet. “Thank you, Lilabelle. You, too, Professor.”

John let the cabin with Reckless and drove home almost in a daze. By the time he parked Jim-Bob’s car in its usual spot, he wondered if he had dreamed the whole evening. Reckless jumped out of the car and headed for his doghouse. John opened his wallet and saw the coin glinting in the moonlight.

“Thanks, Big Brother,” he said softly.

& & & & & &

_My father eventually told my mother of this strange night after the War ended. My brothers and I all served honorably. I was a war correspondent for **Stars & Stripes** in the European Theater while Ben served as a Navy Seabee in the South Pacific. We had our share of troubles as I was shot down while observing on a bombing mission and ended up in a coma for several weeks and Ben wound up in a Japanese POW camp, but we both survived our ordeals. Jim-Bob never let the States as he served as a mechanic in the Army Air Force._

_Ironically, gentle Jason served in the U.S. army on the front lines from D-Day all the way to Berlin in Europe. It was he who carried the coin into battle, following in the footsteps of his uncle. The coin stopped a bullet during the Battle of the Bulge._

_Somewhere, Ben Walton smiled._


End file.
